


put up with me

by spacejunk



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Rick Sanchez, Trans Stan Pines, they're both trans fight me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacejunk/pseuds/spacejunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Buy me a drink /and/ give me free soap?" Stan laughed, clipped and sarcastic. "Charitable type, are you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	put up with me

It had been a while since Stanley Pines had seen the inside of a laundromat. 

As luck would have it, he had spotted a couple bucks on the street earlier that day. Picking the coins up off the sidewalk and shoving them into his pocket as fast as his shivering, cold-numbed fingers would allow him, he had tried to decide how to use the money.

It would take some time for any of the goons after his ass to find him (two states over from where he had been when he’d gotten into trouble with their leader in the first place), so he would have some time to find the money he owed him. No need to put all the spare change towards /that/ fund. However, the few outfits he was in possession of were in desperate need of a wash of any kind other than a rinse-down in the sink of a motel bathroom and stained by more types of bodily fluids than he cared to name.

So, there he was, loading his clothes out of his duffle bag, into one of the cream-coloured laundry machines set in rows around the room.

As he began to shrug off his jacket, Stan felt the familiar sensation of being watched. Spinning around, he nearly rammed into the person standing right behind him.

The man invading way too much of Stan’s personal space glared at him from deep-set dark eyes beneath an abnormally blue unibrow, as if sizing him up. His gangly figure towered over Stan’s short and stout body.

“Here,” a small glass vial was pressed to Stan’s chest. “Test this for me.”

A small and perplexed “what?” Was all Stan could manage in return.

“Use it on your clothes to get the shit off of them s-so I know if it works for me.” he said, as if it were painstakingly obvious. “Y-you’ll never get them clean with the stuff th-they sell here.”

Stan was rarely one to turn down free resources, but this was not the way he was used to acquiring them.

“Well if you won’t do it,” Blue-Hair snatched the vial back and dumped its contents into the washing machine containing Stan’s clothes.

“Hey!” He lunged forward, helplessly grabbing at where the other man’s arm had been moments before.

“I-I’m doing you a favour, bud.” He stuttered waspishly, leaning against a non-operational machine, arms crossed.

Stan huffed and took the same pose at the machine across from him, reciprocating the glare he was being given as best he could.

• • • • •

Exiting the laundromat half an hour later, Stan found himself being grabbed, spun around, and slammed against a wall.

His brain immediately kicked into self-defense mode, but before he had the chance to strike back, he was hit in the face with a wall of warm air that stunk of cheap alcohol.

“Did it work?” asked his attacker.

“Son of a-- you again?” Stan, recognizing the man from inside the laundromat, pushed him off of himself.

“Di-did-did it work?” He repeated.

“What, the goop you dumped on my clothes? Ya it got 'em clean enough.” He gave the clearly drunken man in front of him a look over as he recalled watching him be the first to leave the staring contest and stride out of the laundromat about fifteen minutes earlier, a tall, thin, slouching figure in a black hoodie. “Listen, what the hell was that stuff?”

“I dumped it on your clothes and it got ‘em clean. Pretty obvious what it is.” He snapped. Only a second later though he sniffed and stuck out one spindly hand in Stan’s direction. “Rick Sanchez,”

Stan squinted at the hand but took it in his own and shook.

“Steven Parker,” he blurted, using one of the aliases he’d thought of on his way into the city. Guess he was sticking with that one for now.

Rick raised his monobrow, displaying his skepticism at the name being real.

Stanley scowled and looked away, stuffing his hand into the pocket of his coat, walking away, leaving it at that, trying not to look back at the creep he was almost positive was still watching him.

“Hey wait!” And, yes, Rick was walking next to him, seeming to have no trouble keeping up.

Stan stopped dead in his tracks and half turned to face him. “Thanks for everything, but I’d like to be going now.” He turned to leave again, but was yanked back by a hand on his shoulder, which he was quick to swat away.

“Lemme buy y-you a drink. I’m playing tonight at a place not far from here.” Rick offered.

“Buy me a drink /and/ give me free soap?" Stan laughed, clipped and sarcastic. "Charitable type, are you?”

Rick chuckled- Stan wasn’t sure if it was at him or not- “No, you’re just, I d-don’t know if y-you know this or not, but you’re really fucking hot.”

Stan sighs. It isn’t the first time someone’d guessed he was queer. He never understood how people seemed to do that. But /he/ guessed Rick was after more than just someone to hold hands with. It had worked out in his favour that both he and his brother had been born with square jaws and wide shoulders. He knew he passed well, but he was not in the mood for explaining to anyone why he didn’t have a dick. Not today.

“I’m not…I’m not really looking for anyone to… get together with… right now. At least not in the way--”

“Mehhh,” Rick waved a hand through the air dismissively. “I still expect you to c-come watch me play though. Consider it repayment for the detergent.”

**Author's Note:**

> (update: 5/5/2107) i've received several requests to continue this fic. and while i'm flattered that people enjoy my writing, i unfortunately have no intention of writing any more chapters for this particular story.


End file.
